


The Cliffs of Delphi: The Madness of You

by GreyLiliy



Series: The Cliffs Of Delphi [7]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Consent, M/M, Physical Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 05:54:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1215172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/pseuds/GreyLiliy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pharma gave himself to a madman, and foolish choices are all that follows such things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Another Cliffs of Delphi story based on an RP with Miss. Rothinsel. Unlike the last one where I pretty much took the RP near word-for-word/scene-for-scene, this time around I’m doing from memory, so it’s a little more loosely adapted.
> 
> Anyway. Enjoy this little peak at Pharma and his dear, benefactor Tarn about mid-way through their complicated relationship. :3

Last night, Pharma had broken. He had said yes to the madman who escaped the walls of his asylum every day. The lunatic who walked free and clear.

There had been no beatings, no bruises. No harsh words whispered in his ear until he sobbed and stopped fighting. No broken ribs from lost tempers. There had been no threats of cutting off Pharma’s desperately needed allowance of money to keep his Asylum running. No restraints, no force.

There was only Tarn.

It was one of their good nights. Just a visit, where Tarn came and talked. Pharma thought it odd that he came for things other than carnal exploits. It hinted at affection further than their power struggle, and it often frightened him. Like the other good nights, they shared a drink in the sitting room, with the fire roaring and a plate of Nurse Aid’s sweet rolls on the table. Tarn discussed something about his little rent boy Kaon and stealing biscuits, and his lip curved in just the right way, twisting the scars that covered his face. Tarn’s voice was soothing, and it struck Pharma: I’m fond of this man.

A mad thought, but his all the same.

Pharma’s fingers had twisted on his arm chair, and his heart beat increased. He enjoyed this. He enjoyed this man’s company. Pharma had his complete attention—Tarn had even said so. The man had long stopped seeing his whores, and his conquests. He’d gotten rid of them. Pharma was his own, and in an odd way—that made Tarn belong to Pharma.

Following that thought of what was surely the start of a new madness, Pharma dropped his drink and crossed the room, led by invisible strings. He cut Tarn off mid-sentence with a kiss, for once surprising the other man. Pharma took the lead, and his madman was more than willing to follow.

It was gentle, and it was sweet—but not without its passion. They went from firm touches on the couch, to baring themselves in Pharma’s bed. They had—to borrow from Nurse Aid’s books—made love. It was such a foolish, childish way to put it, but Pharma could think of no other way to describe it. This wasn’t the frustrating and violent couplings of before. It was different, and it was perfect.

But come the morning, Pharma regained his senses. He stared wide eyed at the ceiling, replaying his actions over and over while he pet Tarn’s hair with a trembling hand. Pharma traced the mass of scarring and burns that rested under the man’s left eye, and his stomach dropped to the floor.

Pharma knew terror.


	2. Chapter 2

"Pharma," Tarn said with a heavy voice. The weariness of his frame, and the weight of his stare froze every inch of Pharma’s form. Tarn’s fork hit the plate, and Pharma flinched. The first cut of Tarn’s rabbit still sat on the end of the fork, the sauce dripping on the edge of the white plate. "I am disappointed."

Pharma held his breath, focusing every inch of his willpower to remain calm. He pushed his knife forward and continued cutting through the potato on his plate. The butter slid down the side of it, melting and running into his own roast. Pharma took a bite and remained calm.

"Are you now?" Pharma asked, sitting tense in the small dining room in the back of the living quarters of his asylum, was reduced to a single thought: Deny. "What has caught your ire this time? You usually are disappointed with something or another at any given moment."

"Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?" Tarn said, something choked in his voice. He seemed, dare Pharma think it, hurt. Tarn sounded as though Pharma had physically injured him. The older, larger man stared at his plate with his face twisted town and brows furrowed, crushed. But the next few words that escaped Tarn’s voice, were not only hurt—but angry. "What were you thinking?"

Pharma had made a mistake.

"I still don’t know what you’re talking about," Pharma said. He listened to the fire behind Tarn. He concentrated on the plate and ate his potatos while Tarn drilled a hole into Pharma’s skull with his glare. Taste the butter. Don’t give yourself away. Cover.  _Deny._  Pharma pointed at Tarn’s untouched plate with his knife. “Is it the dinner? You hardly have to eat it if you don’t like it. No matter how hard Miss Aid worked on it, you’re more than free to excuse yourself.”

Tarn placed his fork neatly on the edge of the plate and pushed it aside. He laced his fingers on the table and leaned back into his chair. Tarn sighed heavily, his entire body sinking in the wooden chair. It creaked loudly under his massive weight. “You’re not even going to admit it, now that you’ve been caught?”

"Admit to what?" Pharma asked, cutting viciously into his own rabbit. Purchasing meat with Tarn’s money was a was a rarity. Pharma didn’t want to make it look like he was wasting the funds away on luxuries by dining out on meat every night, but Sundays were special, and Pharma was going to enjoy this treat while he could. He shoved a piece in his mouth and swallowed, memorizing the taste. "You’ve been speaking in riddles since we sat down."

"It didn’t once occur to you, that a man in my profession would recognize this immediately upon noticing its smell?" Tarn asked, rubbing the side of his temple and motioning at the dish.

Pharma ignored him and continued eating. Tarn grabbed Pharma’s plate and pulled it away, mid-cut of the meat. Pharma gaped as Tarn picked up the plate and dumped the food in the fire behind him. It crackled and burned as the fire licked up every last taste of Pharma’s last meal.

"It was sloppy," Tarn hissed. "I think I’m more insulted by that, than the fact you even attempted it."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about." Pharma set his utensils on the table, and reached for his glass of wine. He drank deeply and dropped the glass on the table. Pharma’s fingers trembled around the stem of the glass. "Have you lost your mind?"  
  
"Ignorance doesn’t suit you, Pharma." Tarn set the emptied flatware on the table, and placed his full dish on top of it. He flicked the side of the ceramic, and the frown on his face deepened. Pharma took another swig of his drink, as Tarn leaned forward across the too small table. "It’s unbecoming, and there’s no use hiding it now. Do us both a favor and drop the charade."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about." Pharma’s voice was unnaturally even in his delivery. Tarn’s eyes narrowed farther, and his hands tightened into fists. Pharma, head up, continued with a far shakier breath. "If you don’t want the food, don’t eat it."

"You tried to poison me!" Tarn roared.

Pharma couldn’t move away fast enough, and Tarn caught him. He slammed Pharma’s head down on the table, and every thought in his head rattled around like his patients banging on their bars. Pharma clawed at the table’s end, as he was dragged across toward Tarn’s side. The madmen held Pharma’s head there with his scared finger tips, and rammed his thumb into Pharma’s cheekbone.

Tarn hissed in his ear, sliding over the sullied plate of what was once good rabbit. “Now admit what you have done, or I will make you eat every bite on this plate and drag out the truth one way or another.”

"I did it," Pharma whispered, staring at the greasy meat he had tarnished when the Nurse had her back turned. Pharma’s fingers dug into the table top, and his head ached. Tarn would make him do it. He would shove that vile food down Pharma’s throat with fat fingers until he choked. And if Pharma was to die for this foolish mistake, he refused to do it by his own hand with his own damned stock of drugs. Pharma grit his teeth together and shouted into the wood of his dinner table, "I tried to murder you!"


	3. Chapter 3

Pharma breathed heavily into the table, sucking in the air as if it’d be taken away from him at any second. With Tarn’s hand crushing his skull like a vice, Pharma’s last moments on this earth could almost be counted by his shuddering breaths.

“Now was that so hard?” Tarn asked. His hand slipped away from the back of Pharma’s neck, and the table creaked as he stopped leaning on the wood. Tarn’s fingertips pulled on the ends of Pharma’s hair lightly. “Don’t you feel better getting that off your chest?”

Tarn’s mass disappeared and the rush of cold air stung Pharma’s back through his sweat soaked shirt. He stayed where he was, staring at the rancid dinner plate for a full minute before slipping away from the table. His legs buckled, refusing to hold him, and he slid to the floor. Pharma clutched the top of the table, while he kneeled there, his stomach churning. 

Tarn stared at the fire, leaning on the mantel shelf with his head resting on his forearm. The warm light flickered across his face, bringing out the shape and shimmer of his scars.

Pharma scooted away from the table, crawling on his elbows and pushing with the back of his ankle.  _What was Tarn’s game now?_ Pharma bit his lip, and tried to sink into the floor. Perhaps if he went unnoticed, he could escape and run. Run far, far away from the madman that was sure to turn and attack any second.

Tarn didn’t move away from the fire place or say a word more on the subject. If Pharma were wise, he’d put that running plan into action already. Maybe he’d even come back after a bit. Pharma would let the fire dim down and pretend this never happened. But, curse it all, he was curious. Why wasn’t Tarn doing anything? Where was all that anger from a moment ago? Pharma bit his lip and crawled to his feet, standing almost tall.

Pharma whispered, “Tarn?”

The giant sighed into his arm, and grabbed the fire poker. He jammed the edge of it into the flames, and pushed around the ashes of Pharma’s dinner. Tarn licked his lips, and a sad smile spread across his face as he teased the flames. “Is this what the other night was about?”

Pharma swallowed. He knew  _exactly_  which night Tarn was talking about. And yes, it was. Pharma looked to the floor, away from Tarn.  _Dammit all._

“You wanted to lower my guard by pretending you’d given in to me?” Tarn asked, sounding drained and tired. He jammed the poker harder into the fire, the flames lapping higher against the brick walls. “And then poison me when I was comfortable? Have I gotten that right?”

 _No,_ Pharma thought to himself. His heart beat harder in his chest, and his breath hitched. That wasn’t right at all. Not even close. But. Pharma clutched at his shirt, twisting the fabric enough to nearly tear it. He couldn’t answer. Tarn could assume what he wanted. Pharma stood straighter and narrowed his eyes. Yes. He could think whatever he damn well wanted!

“Well,” Tarn sucked in a breath. He shook his head both ways, rubbing at his temple with the start of a strained laugh. Tarn tossed the fire poker across the room, the hot tip of it sizzling as it knocked against the stone floor. Tarn dropped his arm loosely at his side. “I suppose I should have expected that. Even you have your breaking point, don’t you?”

Pharma didn’t answer that, either.

Tarn slammed his hand on the mantle, and laughed. The sound of it sent Pharma’s skin to crawling. He should run. Why wasn’t he running? He had to get away—Tarn turned toward him with a grin, and opened his arms wide. “Well, if that’s going to be our game, than so be it.”

“Tarn,” Pharma said as the larger man strode toward him. He backed up away from the ever coming closer giant until he smacked into the back wall. Pharma’s fingers gripped against the wall, looking for anything he might be able to grab and use as a weapon. His hands met only air. “What are you doing now?”

“I don’t mind it if this is the game you want to play, really I don’t.” Tarn slammed his palm into the wall and leaned down. Pharma felt like a tiny child, a toddler who had no way to defend against a vicious adult. Tarn grabbed Pharma’s chin and tipped it up, dragging his index finger up and down along Pharma’s jaw. “You’re hardly the first who has wanted to play.”

Pharma pushed at Tarn’s hands, and he winced as the grip on his chin tightened. “This is hardly a game.”

“No, it is. This is most definitely a game,” Tarn said. He pulled Pharma’s head to the side, and whispered gently in his ear, his breath hot and heavy. “And next time, I suggest you try much harder to win.”

Cold air hit Pharma again, as Tarn’s body moved away. Pharma’s benefactor was across the room, collecting his coat from the chair by the time Pharma’s brain caught up with his body.

Tarn left the room without another word.

Pharma slid to the ground, and covered his mouth with his hand. He’d survived. Somehow he’d survived it. Even with his botched, foolish plan, he’d survived it.

But now Tarn was expecting a next time.

What was Pharma to do?


	4. Chapter 4

“Pharma, I am disappointed,” Tarn said, voice as heavy as it was a week earlier. He placed his fork on the rim of his plate, and rubbed the side of his face. “When I told you to try harder, that did not mean you should attempt the same pathetic tactic over again.”

Pharma swallowed, and sucked in a shallow breath. Perhaps, he had been a bit hasty with his second attempt. Surely he could have waited another week? Pharma set his silverware down, and scooted away from the table about a foot.

“Though I suppose I should give you a point for at the very least changing the poison,” Tarn said. He shoved the dish away and stood from his chair. Tarn rested his knuckles on the table, and his voice was iron steel. “But the disappointment remains all the same.”

Pharma sprinted for the door.

Gone was the hurt, and oddly amused Tarn. Gone was his forgiving benefactor. Pharma slammed into the dining room door, his hand fumbling on the latch as he pushed himself out and into the stone hallway. The roar behind him, and the sound of the table crashing. Broken glass. Silverware clinking on the spilled flatware. Gone was any trace of the man, Tarn.

Pharma had woken the monster.

“Pharma!” Tarn snarled, slamming his hand against the door frame. His screaming stopped as he glanced down the hall. Perhaps he didn’t want to wake the staff. That was fine with the sprinting doctor. Tarn stalked into the hallway, his bulk taking up near all space between the walls. There was no escape that way. Tarn hissed, “Wait until I get my hands on you.”

“Oh, don’t I know,” Pharma said to himself as he slammed into the locked door at the end of the hall.

He’d been a fool. The idea that he had fallen for that madman kept him to waking at night. That his last attempt at removing Tarn from his life had failed, had only made it worse. Pharma had to try again. He had to. Tarn had to go away and be gone forever.

But what more was he to do?

Pharma’s fingers fumbled as he threw his keyring up to the knob. Shaking hands shoved the metal into the lock and he twisted, ever aware of the stomping footsteps behind him. It clicked, Pharma pushed through. He slammed it shut, and with far more swiftness—locked it again.

He couldn’t overtake Tarn by force. He couldn’t fight him, and Pharma couldn’t hire anyone to do it for him! He had to borrow money to run his asylum—from Tarn. It was…poisons were all he had. Poisons and drugs and—

Pharma ran for the medical cabinet. He threw open the case, as Tarn broke down his door. Pharma scrambled for the container he needed as the brute pushed the useless obstacle out of the way, the broken hinges hanging off the edge of the splintered wood.

“I’m not paying to fix that,” Tarn said, dumping the door behind him. He brushed off his shoulder, as if he hadn’t knocked the thing off its hinges with a single blow. “For the record.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Pharma said, shoving bottles aside.  _Where was it!?_  

“Now then,” Tarn said. Pharma could almost feel the monster’s breath on his neck. He was so close, so close! Tarn snarled. “I do believe, that it’s my turn in this game of ours.”

“Back away!” Pharma yelled. He turned and grabbed the cabinet with his hand. The other held up a long bottle, with his hand firmly around the neck. Pharma kept it close, but in a ready position to throw it at Tarn’s face. “Come any closer and so help me I will break this over your head!”

Tarn continued to loom, but he did stop. He smirked, “And what is in that?”

“Acid,” Pharma hissed. He squeezed the rim of the cabinet edge, and breathed heavily. “Use it to clean the flesh off bones. It’ll take that scarred face of yours right off!”

“And what makes you think you’ll hit me with that before I take it from you?” Tarn laughed. He laughed! Pharma squared his shoulders. Tarn smirked, waving his hand at the offending bottle. “What sort of threat is that?”

“I don’t think you’ll risk it,” Pharma said. He growled right back, and brandished his only weapon higher. He pictured it smacking into Tarn’s smug face, glass and all shattering across his teasing flesh! “You can hide those scars of yours with concealers and powders, but it’d be a bit harder to hide your missing eyes and gouged out cheeks!”

Tarn considered Pharma, much like the asylum cat did the mice that ran about under foot. He knew that look. Pharma held his breath, but Tarn took a step back. He held up his hands and shook his head.

“You have a point,” Tarn said. He continued to step back, but smiled all the same. “You win for now, but do watch your back, dear Doctor. I’m not finished with you.”

Pharma refused to move an inch, until Tarn was completely out the door of his office. He waited. Pharma closed his eyes and listened closely, refusing to move or budge until he was sure. The sound of Tarn’s footsteps continued, heading back and forth in the echoing halls, until Pharma heard the slamming of a heavy door. 

He’d left.

“Sweet mercy,” Pharma said, holding his chest. He looked down at the bottle of acid in his hand, and nearly cried. Saved by the worst thing in his cabinet. The same wretched mix he used to clean Tarn’s little collection pieces. Pharma shook his head. “I can’t live like this.”

Pharma treaded carefully toward the broken door. He stepped over it, and shook his head. He’d have to fix that. Perhaps Ambulon would help him get it back on its hook before a patient escaped. But for now, Pharma only wanted his bed. He squeezed the bottle still in his hand, and headed for his sanctuary.

He paused only once, to stare into the disaster that was now his dining room. The table was broken in half, the sullied food spilled across the floor. Pharma’s favorite brand of wine? Covering the carpet.

“What a mess,” Pharma said.

A hand slapped over Pharma’s mouth, and a voice breathed in his ear: “I couldn’t agree more.”

_Tarn._

The hand with the acid was wrenched into the air, twisting until Pharma screamed and released the bottle. It shattered on the carpet, eating away at the fabric and slipping into the cracks of the stone floor. Free of its weapon, Tarn twisted Pharma’s hand behind his back. The monster was at his back, and Pharma was going to die.

“Now,” Tarn said, even as Pharma clawed at the hand covering the doctor’s mouth. Pharma’s struggles didn’t so much as move him. “I do believe, that it’s my turn.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Tarn’s hand tasted like salt.

Pharma’s tongue touched it against his will, from the opened mouth shout that came from the base of his terror. The rough palm squeezed, closing his jaw and ripping Pharma’s head back at an uncomfortable angle. Tarn was an unmovable mountain, stronger than any ox, but the doctor struggled all the same. Pharma’s back arched as he tried to get out of the monster’s grip.

"Before we begin, however, I am curious," Tarn said, wrenching Pharma away from the dining room door. Pharma’s feet dragged and stumbled as Tarn walked him down the hallway toward the bedrooms. He opened Pharma’s door with his shoulder and slammed it shut with his foot. "Just what broke you so badly to try and poison me twice so quickly in succession."

Tarn threw Pharma to the floor, and turned to lock the doctor’s door. He twisted the key left, and then bent it until the metal snapped—trapping the end of the it in the lock. Pharma’s breath hitched as he looked up from the floor, and saw the leftovers of the key bounce on his stone floor with a ‘tink tink.’ That door wasn’t opening any time soon—unless you were a brute who could break it off its hinges.

"So tell me, Pharma," Tarn said, squatting down and grabbing a fistful of ginger hair. Pharma grit his teeth as his neck was twisted back and to the side, exposing his neck from the high collar of his shirt. "What did it? What was the final straw?"

Pharma whimpered, pathetic as a dog as his hair was pulled taught. There was no answer for that question. Nothing that he could admit or say that would make this right. Or be believed.

Or anything that Pharma would admit aloud.

"Why the silent treatment now?" Tarn asked, dropping Pharma’s head onto the ground. He stood, and slammed his heel into Pharma’s side, earning a gasp and a pained suck of air. Tarn kicked Pharma again, throwing him flat on his back from the floor. Tarn paced around him, every inch the wild animal he was at night in the street. "Normally I can’t get you to shut your mouth. Always so eager to talk my ear off, even when bleeding."

Pharma shook his head on the cold stone, and breathed heavier. He felt the chill come up from the floor and through his sweat soaked clothes. He didn’t have an answer. Tarn growled, a fearsome snarl that shook the room. Pharma was going to die. Tarn grabbed Pharma’s wrist, and lifted the arm. He pressed his thumb in the middle of Pharma’s palm and stretched out the fingers.

_No._

"I think I may have a way to open those lips of yours," Tarn said. He delicately gripped a finger and pressed it back. The finger stretched, and the first licks of pain went down Pharma’s arm. Tarn teased the finger back and forth, his mouth twisting into a smirk that sent his make up to cracking. "I wonder how many of these digits I can break before you tell me what I want to know? However will you perform your surgeries with splinted fingers?"

"Stop! Tarn, please!" Pharma yelled, grabbing the brute’s hand. This was worse. This was so much worse than anything he could imagine. Give him the broken ribs. The embarrassment and the shame. But not this—never this! His hands were his life. Tarn couldn’t take them. He couldn’t! Pharma’s knees buckled, and he hung from Tarn’s grip like a fish on a hook. "For the love of God, kill me first before you break my hand!"

"Then tell me!" Tarn snarled, wraping his thick fingers around Pharma’s wrist. He backhanded the doctor hard enough to draw blood from his teeth. He snatched Pharma up by his collar and held the man in the air, the other hand still twisting the wrist—threatening to break with ever pulse of his anger. "Open your mouth and tell me what changed.

"I broke your ribs. I beat you within an inch of your life. I threw you to the mattress and shoved your face so hard in the pillow it left indentations. You’ve screamed for me, begged me for mercy, and cursed my name to the Heavens—and what did you do about it? Nothing!" Tarn dropped Pharma’s arm, and threw him back onto the bed with a single heft. Pharma’s legs hit the wood and he scrambled back away from the shouting monster, desperate to gain purchase on the mattress.

Tarn’s voice lowered as he crawled onto the bed, pinning Pharma’s back against the firm mattress with an arm across Pharma’s chest. Tarn leaned over him, his body trapping him in too small a corner. He hissed. “You didn’t retaliate, or threaten. You met me every day as if we did nothing in this back room. For years, you turned the other way.”

Pharma bit the edge of his lip and turned his head away. He couldn’t answer. Oh God above don’t make him answer!

"So tell me," Tarn pleaded. He thread his fingers through Pharma’s hair and rested it on the back of his neck. Almost a caress under the trembling hand. "So tell me why, when everything is going so well. When we’re getting along, and I no longer have to hit you. When you come to my bed willingly! Why!? Why now would you turn to this-this betrayal.

"Answer me, Pharma!" Tarn yelled, inches from the doctor’s ear. He gripped his hand into a fist, pulling a handful of hair, and rested his head for a moment on the desperately pounding chest under him. Tarn grabbed Pharma’s hand and squeezed hard, threatening to crush the fingers and hand all together. Pharma’s eyes widened.  _No, no, no!_  Tarn cried out, angry and betrayed, “Because I don’t understand!”

Pharma could almost hear the ligaments of his precious fingers ripping—the bruises already forming on the skin. The bones scraping against each other. Pharma’s heart pounded, an echoing in his ears that drowned out all other noise in the room. He had to stop it. He had to answer.

Pharma screamed, “Because I love you!”


	6. Chapter 6

If Tarn had any mercy, he’d kill Pharma now.

Pharma’s throat swelled, a cottony lurch that trapped his heaving breath inside and stretched the moist muscles until they ached. The weight on his chest was the grounding reminder that his actions were even now being watched by the eyes of a hawk. Pharma was tempted to let it all go and sob and get the embarrassment of weeping like a child over with.

He’d admitted it.

Pharma closed his eyes and waited. For what, even his own imagination couldn’t provide the answer. With the admission of his darkest shame out in the open, his mind was a blank slate, and there was no room for anything but the odd cocktail of exhaustion and the desire to cry in frustration.

The clock in the corner ticked on, each click a roar over Pharma’s heavy breaths. He counted them, as numerous as the sands in an hour glass.

Nothing came.

The weight on Pharma’s chest lifted, but he dared not open his eyes. Tarn was changing positions. It’d be easier to strike Pharma or to strangle him if standing or straddling him, that was all. Pharma would not look, but he could turn. He curled on his side and covered his head, his restless, trembling body a useless lump.

The bed creaked, the mattress bounced up when Tarn stood. Pharma bit his lip and tightened his hold on his head, burying his face in his arms. His grip tightened in his ugly red hair, and he waited. For the blow, for the hit. For yelling. Whatever Tarn would do. He only prayed there was a warning of some sort, so he could at least brace for the blows.

The impact of flesh on wood broke through the room, followed by the crack of the door frame splintering. A rusted whine sounded as the door swung open, and heavy footsteps grew soft as they got father away.

Pharma was alone.

It was a trick. Pharma refused to move, and shook his head. It had to be—like before after the acid threat. Tarn was waiting for him to get up and try to run. He was an animal. They liked the chase and the catch. What good was was waiting prey for madmen like Tarn? Pharma counted to ten. Or would it be like last week? When Tarn found himself more amused than angry and let it slide. Pharma bit the edge of his lip and tasted the blood there from the split. He could never blasted tell with that man!

Pharma risked it.

He inched off the bed, sliding to the floor. The wreckage of his bedroom door was not nearly as bad as he was expecting—the door still hanging on its hinges, though the lock was beyond repair. Slivers of wood littered the ground around it, shattered by Tarn’s fearsome strength. Pharma entered the hallway, slowly and eyes darting about in every direction. The hallway was empty, so where—Where had Tarn gone?

Pharma flinched, hearing a wail down the hallway. He spun around and gripped his hand into fists ready to—a second wail. He paused, dropping his hands with a sigh and looking up at his ceiling. It was only Red, crying in the basement. Pharma shook his head and rubbed the side of his face, wincing when it came back wet with blood.

He should wash that off.

But first, he rather ought to find the object of his regretful affection, before Tarn found the time to be creative.

The tap of his feet echoed down the stone hallway as he glanced into rooms looking for the beast. Weariness slowly overtook the fear, easing his steps against the trembling. Pharma was almost soothed by the screams of his patients down below. Red’s crying turned Arcee to her shouts and growls, which in turn upset the rest. A screaming symphony of patients in their own personal agonies.

It was familiar. A madness Pharma could handle.

Unlike his current problem. Pharma stopped at the shattered dining room, and leaned against the door. Why couldn’t Tarn have just killed him and ended it? Anything would be better than actively looking for the man who wanted to kill you.

"Good, there you are," Tarn said, appearing out of the shadows like the devil slipping through a church window. He grabbed Pharma’s arm near the shoulder and wrenched him yet again from the doorway. Tarn sounded almost pleasant as he dragged Pharma down the hallway toward his office. "I was afraid I’d have to go hunt you down."

Pharma bit his tongue, and swallowed. He’d wished for this—to get it over with. Why struggle now?

Tarn pushed Pharma into his office, his feet tripping over the door on the ground. Pharma’s medical cabinet was emptied, and his sketchbooks were scattered on the floor. He snorted, what was Tarn expecting to find in those? Deadly powders hidden between the pages? Pharma stared at the books, and wondered how coincidental it was that they were all opened to Tarn’s portraits.

Those wretched sketches upon sketches. Pharma’d nearly filled the back pages of all his books with images of Tarn. With his make up, without his make up, awake, asleep, clothed and nude. Drawings of things Pharma desperately wanted out of his head, but only multiplied his thoughts once added to the concrete eternity of paper.

Pharma picked up one of them, refusing to look back at Tarn as he shuffled about preparing for something. He felt numb, with so much evidence smacking him in the face. Pharma flipped through the pencil drawings, page after page.

Had he really drawn so many?

A loud metallic clank clattered in the background, followed by a wave of heat on Pharma’s soaked back. Pharma dropped his sketchbook when Tarn yanked his hands behind his back. The book tumbled to the ground, open to a sketch of Tarn in his favorite black suit.

"Tarn," Pharma said, as rope secured his arms behind his back. The hold was tight and it arched his spine as Tarn pulled them further back.

"Shhh, Pharma," Tarn soothed, the jovial tone a dire contrast to his earlier mood. "We’re not quite ready for conversation yet."

The monster dumped Pharma on his knees, and walked past him. Pharma tugged his shoulders, but the ropes wouldn’t budge. His forearms were locked together, the back of his hands flat against his shirt. Pharma grit his teeth and pulled harder. Perhaps he could stand and—why was it so hot in here?

"Now then," Tarn said, scraping something metal against stone.

Pharma jerked his head to the side and his jaw dropped. Tarn stoked the hot burning wood in the metal bucket that was at his feet. The flames leaped up, and sparks danced in the air. They fizzled out on the stone flooring—his carpet missing. Tarn pulled the end of the fire poker out from the flames, and the end smoked. The metal an angry red, hissing in anger at the cold air.

"I think," Tarn said, his grip tightening on the end of the poker, "that we should try this again."


	7. Chapter 7

"Tarn," Pharma said, leaning away from the burning edge of the poker. Brusies and broken bones healed, burns did not. Tarn knew that. He knew that better than anyone. Pharma had to ask, "What are you doing?"

"Do I need to repeat the question, or do you remember?" Tarn asked, caring not for Pharma’s own query. He held the tip of the heated metal near the edge of Pharma’s collar, burning the fabric. The smell of smoke filled Pharma’s nose and he jerked away. "I’m hoping the added incentive may draw truth from your lips.

"Though I may just do it anyway. A little brand to mark you as mine, no matter what comes from your mouth a scar is forever. That seems like a fitting punishment!

"What do you think? Shall I add a few extra freckle to your face?" Tarn asked, hovering the end of the stick just above Pharma’s cheek. He whipped it down toward Pharma’s thigh, and tapped it light enough to sizzle his trousers. "Or shall I carve my name into your inner thigh, where only I will see it? Both are rather promising…"

Tarn kept talking, but Pharma stared. Eyes wide, mouth hanging open wide enough to catch spiders. Truth. Tarn wanted truth. Pharma grit his teeth and felt his own fire ignite.  _How dare he?_  Pharma sucked in a breath and shifted his knees on the stone floor.

_How dare he!?_

"Get that away from me!" Pharma snarled, pushing to his feet. His arms twisted in the ropes as his shoulders moved. He wanted to hit the bastard, but he settled for walking forward and yelling up at Tarn’s make-up caked face. "I told you truth, and you didn’t believe me! I refuse to be tortured just so you can hear the lies you want!"

Tarn backhanded Pharma across the side of the head, using the hand that still held tight to the metal pole.

Pharma hit the ground, his shoulder digging into the spine of a sketch book. Tarn struck him in the side with metal poker, his skin saved only by the slowly cooling metal and his wet clothes. Pharma wheezed and glared up at Tarn. “Hitting me isn’t going to change the answer!”

"Truth," Tarn said, dropping the end of the poker back into the flaming bucket. The fire licked its way around the metal as Tarn left it there to heat. "You said you ‘loved’ me, after two murder attempts. You’ll forgive me if sounded as nothing more than a pathetic attempt to stave off my wrath."

"This from the man who encouraged me to try harder next time," Pharma said, licking his lips. He scooted on his side, pulling his knee forward to sit up.

"For someone so smart, you’re rather dense at times," Tarn said. He pressed his heel into Pharma’s chest, trapping him on his back. "It was merely a warning that if you’re going to try something that stupid, you had best succeed."

"My mistake," Pharma said, struggling to breathe under the weight of Tarn’s foot on his chest. "Next time I’ll bring the pistol."

"Stop avoiding the topic, Pharma," Tarn said. He threatened to break Tarn’s ribs, pressing down harder. "You said you told me truth. Explain yourself, and perhaps I’ll only burn my name into your skin, instead of chopping off your fingers."

"There’s nothing to explain," Pharma snarled.

Tarn reached behind him and grabbed the metal fire poker. He pulled it fresh and hot from the slowly dimming fire and sighed. Tarn lifted his foot and kicked Pharma over so that he lay on his stomach, his hands exposed to the air. “If I cut a finger off with this, it should cauterize itself, shouldn’t it, doctor? Why don’t we test it and find out for sure?”

Always the hands. He always went for the hands.

The heat of the pointed end burned against his skin before the metal even touched and Pharma screamed, “I was scared!”

The metal poker stopped, the warm air surrounding it brushing against Pharma’s skin. He heard breathing but nothing more: Tarn was listening.

"I was scared," Pharma repeated. He squeezed his hands into fists and shook his head. "That’s all."

"Scared? I thought you said you were in love?" Tarn laughed, the bitter edge to it sharper than the stick threatening to take Pharma’s ring finger. "Which is it? Make up your mind, you stupid boy."

"Both," Pharma hissed. He smacked his forehead into the cool stone and sighed. "I realized you had won your little game. You wanted me to love you, and I told myself it would never happen. I hated you, until…until I didn’t.

"I looked forward to you coming over. Complaining about Kaon, teasing me, and hell, I even liked it when you held me," Pharma said, his voice catching in his throat. "I reazlied I loved you, and I’ve never been more frightened of anything in my life."

Pharma turned his head and stared at Tarn through the corner of his eye. “And what do frightened things do?”

"They bite," Tarn hummed. "For someone who ‘won the game’, as you put it, I don’t feel like much of a victor when my reward is poisoned food."

Tarn threw his hands up and kicked Pharma’s side. “You’re impossible, you know that? The things you put me through, especially after all I’ve done for you. Pharma, I’ve spoiled you rotten with gifts and kind words I don’t share with anyone, and this is what I get. I ought to burn your hand off just to repay back all the trouble…”

Pharma glanced back, to see what had caused Tarn to trail off mid rant. The giant laughed, holding up the end of his fire poker.

"Ah, it’s gone cool again," Tarn said. He tapped the end of the poker and pulled back healthy fingers. Tarn dumped the poker back into the bucket, snorting at the little puff of ashes that flew up in the air. "And the fire in the bucket has faded. Clever, Pharma. Clever."

Tarn pulled a knife from his pocket, and Pharma closed his eyes and bit his lip. One horrific thing for another. What could he ever say to stop—Tarn cut the ropes. Pharma’s eyes flew open as the beast sat on the floor next to him, leaning heavily on the wall. Tarn gathered Pharma into his lap, and the doctor buried his head in Tarn’s chest.

"I swear, you’re like a big cat," Tarn said, dipping his fingers through Pharma’s hair. "You bite and you hiss, ruining all of my things and myself without remorse, and yet when I even go to the trouble of preparing the rolled paper to hit you with—all I want to do is pet you."

Pharma grunted, rubbing the inside of his brusied and aching wrists. Tarn’s moods changed like the weather. Why risk ruining it now when they were spared?

"Did it really scare you that badly?" Tarn whispered, wrapping his arms around Pharma’s back. "Loving me? Was it because you think me a monster? I could introduce you to worse, if that’s what it takes."

"No," Pharma said. He sighed, breathing in the smell of sweat that came from Tarn’s shirt. It was soaked through. "I’ll take your word on it."

"And the first question?"

"Yes," Pharma whispered. "You terrify me. When you’re cruel, when you’re kind. Everything about you makes my knees shake and my heart beat faster. You catch my breath and I can’t find it again, not in the muddled haze that my senses turn into. I can’t think, I can’t breathe, and all I want to do is hide."

Tarn chuckled, the rumble vibrating against Pharma’s cheek through Tarn’s chest. He wrapped his hands on either side of Pharma’s face and brushed his thumb against his chapped lips. Tarn blocked out the room, and Pharma relaxed for the first time in years. In a cold room with a broken door, and sketch books scattered around them. With his scarred monster, and his own quickly beating heart.

"That’s not fear, Pharma." Tarn’s fingers wrapped around the back of Pharma’s neck, gently brushing against the hair line. He leaned in close and whispered a kiss against Pharma’s lips, "That’s love."


End file.
